


I believe that strippers are the future

by cherry3point14



Series: Sammy's Stripper AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cheesy like gouda, Dean likes strippers, F/M, Reader-Insert, Sam like staying in school, Stripping, it's a strip club not a brothel, lap dance, mature because there's not actually any sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry3point14/pseuds/cherry3point14
Summary: You better not touchYou better tip twiceThey're warming you upWhile outside is iceIt's Christmas time in theeeeee strip club!akaa one shot based on Dean's line in S13 E5:"Dude, the last lap dance you had was -- was -- was at Christmas. It was a gift paid for by me. You spent the entire song trying to convince the girl that she should go to nursing school."





	I believe that strippers are the future

Stripping wasn't exactly what you'd wanted to do when you grew up.

There were women who loved stripping with everything they had, embraced it. Used it as a feminist stance against the patriarchy and all that jazz. And you supported that choice, but you still couldn't believe it was something anyone wanted to be when they were 7 years old.

Not to say you hated your job, you had fun with it and you did  _love_  to dance. But stripping was first and foremost something you were very good at and it paid very well.

The club wasn't that bad either. You'd worked a few different ones, all with their faults, before making a permanent home here.

By now the security guys were like older brothers, just older brothers who are 300 pounds of muscle and will rough up anyone who gets out of line.

Honestly. They were teddy bears, the lot of them.

The other girls were some of the best friends you'd ever had. You'd laugh and joke backstage, swapping war stories and looking out for each other. Surprisingly it was one of the least catty environments you’d ever worked in.

But, you know, you also saw all of your work colleagues strip their clothes off regularly.

Really it was like any other job. Some days you loved your job, some days you hated it. A job is a job like any other. 

Today was just sad though.

You'd drawn the short straw and was one of the select few that had to cover  Christmas Eve. You truly hadn't seen all the shades of sad that existed until you'd worked the Christmas shift in a strip club.

The place is decked out obviously. Your manager, Annie, she loves the yuletide season and she sees no reason that it shouldn't go hand in hand with mostly naked women dancing.

There are Santa's hats on all the tables for the poor schmucks who want to wear one and act out their weird Christmas kinks. Cheap tinsel lines all the walls. No mistletoe for obvious reasons. The last thing you want to do is encourage some drunk to try and kiss you. And they don't waste time with Christmas lights because the place is already cast in a neon glow year-round. However, the existing lights are suspiciously green and red most of the way through December.

So, it's as festive as you could expect a strip club to be. Still doesn't mean you want to be working this shift. Because really, what self-respecting schlub is spending Christmas Eve watching girls strip?

Not that it matters who's watching. You're all here regardless. At first, you can almost convince yourself it's any other day, a few sets on stage and then prowling for clients, maybe helping out the waitresses. Except it's hard to completely forget the holidays when there are these amped-up versions of Christmas songs playing alternatively.

Natalie (Candy to the clients) does a killer routine to a version of ' _Santa Baby_ ' that you've never heard till now. Claire (she's calling herself Cinnamon for the season) somehow makes ' _Santa Claus Is Back in Town_ ' work, but then again, it's Elvis and most of the customers are drunk. You had picked a classic when Annie had kindly ordered you all to pick something festive. It was impossible to not pull off a good strip to ' _All I want for Christmas is You_ '.

What you hadn't anticipated was the whooping. The loud cheers while you twirled and climbed the pole on stage. The crowd up until that point had mostly been your garden variety, sad men. Gentlemen of the slightly older variety who are clearly lonely, since most people are with their families. However, the guy who has taken up residence at the rails while you dance, along with another much quieter friend, is three things the rest of the guys in here aren't.

Middle-aged, handsome and really fucking loud.

They're both handsome actually. Both of them dressed in suits like they've just come from work. Honestly, they wouldn't look out of place here any other day but on Christmas Eve they stand out like sore thumbs. Like they should have someplace better to be.

But you're a performer so you let the guy holler if he wants. You welcome the encouragement and work with it. Giving them both a little extra time compared to the other guys dotted around the stage. It's the least you can do for the enthusiasm he's showing.

Well the enthusiasm and the tips, obviously. You're not running a charity.

When you leave the stage, you give the obviously inebriated guy a wink before you disappear, and he elbows the guy next to him, shouting animatedly in his ear. You notice his friend sink lower in his seat.

Once you’re out of sight you think nothing more of it. In fact, you're just pleased to take a couple of minutes before you start working the floor, resting your feet on the stool in front of you. You can’t risk actually taking the stilettos off or they may never go back on. 

"That's something you don't see every Christmas." Natalie's voice makes you jump as she creeps out of the shadows like a weirdo. 

You spin your head from your seat and grin at her in her very obvious candy cane inspired red and white outfit, "I know. Wasn't expecting anyone under 50 tonight. Can't complain though, keeps it interesting."

She hums in agreement while tidying the outline of her lipstick with her finger, "easy on the eyes too."

"Yeah, but they're  _here_ , on Christmas Eve. That's a red flag before you even talk to them."

You both laugh and give each other a cursory glance once you’re standing up again. After both deeming each other good to go you slip out of the dressing room arm in arm. 

It's only takes five minutes before you hear that voice again, this time using words to communicate instead of loud cheers.

"Over here, sweetheart."

You plaster on your best fake smile before turning to them, the shorter haired one waving you over while the guy with the long hair, frankly shiny enough you'd kill for his glossy secrets, just stares into his drink.

"Happy holidays fellas, are you having a holly jolly Christmas?"

If you're going to work Christmas Eve, then you best believe you're going to have fun with it.

Loud guy thinks you're hilarious at least and he laughs big enough to be heard over the music, "am now. What's your name sweetheart?"

You grin, "name's Angel, you know, like the top of the Christmas tree." You pop out your hip proud of yourself even though, in your current outfit, you look like the furthest thing from an innocent Holiday ornament. "What about you honey?"

"I'm Dean," he says, still smiling as he raises his drink to his mouth.

You place both palms flat on the table in front of them and lean forward showing off your assets between your outstretched arms, "And who is your handsome friend?"

Dean is beside himself that you've taken an, albeit brief, interest in his companion and he smirks even wider if possible.

He claps a hand on his friend's shoulder with a semblance of pride, "well Angel," saying your name seems to amuse him no end. Seriously how much has this guy drunk already? "This is my little brother Sammy, and wouldn't you know I've been looking all over for the perfect Christmas present for him."

You nod, understanding where he's going with this but Sammy, who only just seems to be catching up, pales in horror. "Dean no. If I'd have known you were going to-"

Dean takes his hand from his brother's shoulder and waves it in front of him to stop him talking, "please ignore my no hope brother. He's been deprived of beautiful women for so long he's forgotten what to do with them."

"Oh, I'm sure that's not true," you drawl as you wink at Sam. Even in the low lighting, you swear you see him blush. "But I promise Sammy if you let me I'll look after you."

"It's Sam," is all he manages as he looks at you with desperation, it's just not the desperation you're used to seeing on your customer's faces.

However, Dean seems to have made an executive decision, whether his brother likes it or not.

"That's settled. Angel?" He melts a little when you lock eyes with him but keeps the cool, "I think all I want to get my brother for Christmas, is you."

Luckily, you're well versed in laughing at bad jokes since it was at least 40% of your job.

"Sammy, what do ya think? Angel is beautiful right?"

Dean is playing the oldest trick in the book and you can see Sam start to falter. The last thing he wants to do is insult the g-string clad woman in front of him.

"Of course. She's very beautiful."

You realize that your sales pitch is no longer required, this is Dean's rodeo, which makes you obsolete, for now anyway. So, you stand up straight again and put your hands on your hips, swaying slowly to the music while they continue.

"Well, you're not going to let this beautiful woman go home without tips on Christmas are ya Sammy?"

Sam looks between you both and you have the good sense to push out your bottom lip in a practiced pout. 

Really you never stick around for this long trying to convince someone to let you dance up against them for money. There's plenty more fish in the sea and normally letting them see you walk away does the trick anyway. But for some reason here you are, getting dragged into this ambush of Dean's while he gets more and more excited, like a child on too much sugar. Or a man on too much booze you guess.

"Dean I'm not…"

Sam’s final attempt at resistance sounds weak enough that even he knows the jig is up.  

How many times has Dean done this to Sam before?

Not that you ask. Dean just takes out a wedge of bills and peels off a sizeable stack that he slips into the pocket of Sam's jacket. "Of course, you are Sammy. And Angel is going to give you the gift that keeps on giving."

You do not want to ask what he means by that because you have a grim feeling the answer will involve his spank bank. Or his brothers spank bank that he's making a financial investment in. Just because you're aware it exists does not mean you want to hear about it.

Instead, you hold out your hand to Sam and offer him an encouraging smile. "Come on Sam, we'll leave Dean here to a few of my friends. It'll be just you and me."

Dean grunts in approval, while he's already eyeing up your co-workers and Sam, seems at least a little happier about being away from the teasing of his brother while you give him his Christmas present. So, reluctantly he slips a hand in yours and stands up.  

You're momentarily floored by the size of him, his long hair falling around his chiseled face as he reaches full height makes for quite the spectacle. For a hot second, it makes you question, again, what a guy like this is doing in a strip club at Christmas. Or any time of the year in fact. He looks like he should be awkwardly holding a puppy while buying blueberries at a farmer's market or something. Not paying for a dance. 

Although you suppose Dean is the one paying. 

You grin at Sam again before you start leading him through the club to one of the empty booths. Half cutaway rooms typically adorned with layers of thin curtains. Not as private as the champagne room but perfect for nervous clients like Sam clearly was.

His eyes wander the small space as you enter until you place your hands on his chest, pushing him gently until the backs of his knees hit the chair behind him, "Sam, relax. I'm not going to bite," you pause giving him a once over as he falls into the seat, "even if that is what you're into."

If looks could talk Sam's would probably have already left the club twenty minutes ago.

"You really don't have to do this." He manages as you inch closer to him, leaning in. 

"Sam, we can go nice and slow if you want." You pause as you circle him, fingers dancing over his shoulders. "We're just having fun."

This is where you lose a little piece of yourself behind your stripper façade. Doesn't matter who's in your chair but when you start feeling the beat of the music it all comes so naturally.

The way your body sways as you drop to your knees in front of him, hands pushing his knees apart and then crawling up his body to the riff of the song that's pounding in your ears.

It doesn't even matter that Sam clears his throat like he's going to try and make another attempt to stop this because his body relaxes under your touch. You feel it even if he doesn't want you too, even if he's avoiding looking into your eyes.

It's as you're straddling his thigh, drawing slow circles with your ass that he speaks again, "so you always wanted to do this?"

Your hips stop, and you pull your head back for an instant. It's not the first time you've had a talker, but it is the first time you've been asked that. Well, at least it’s the first time you’ve been asked that at this point in the proceedings. 

But you resume, quickly replacing the mask you let slip, leaning in close enough to whisper into his ear but still be heard, "what making you feel good Sam? Yes, I've always wanted to do that."

God, you were good sometimes.

Sam lets out this groan and you try not to smirk. You try but it's so hard when you're winning. You at least have the decency to hide your face until you can wipe it away.

"No-no. I mean stripping, is this what you always wanted to do?"

This time it's your hands that stop where they're braced on his shoulders, the rest of you keeps moving against him. However, the answer that comes out of you, while incredibly sarcastic, is unexpectedly the truth, "yeah. All the other girls wanted to be ballerinas and I was running around second grade naked."

You almost jump away from him, caught off guard by your own words, but you are nothing if not a professional. You swing yourself around, off of his thigh, so your body is between his legs. You back pressing against his chest and writhing into the material of his shirt, "sorry Sam, didn't mean for that to slip out." Your knees bend taking you to the floor and then you agonizingly slowly drag your body back up in with small gyrations until you're upright.

Your hands slide behind your back and up to your bra, thumbs teasing the clasp.

It's as you look over your shoulder, to watch him as he watches you, that it happens. 

He's looking straight ahead like he can't see where your hands are but when he feels your eyes on him his head snaps up, and it's with that eye contact that he asks again.

"What did you want to do?"

* * *

 

"Do you really think I could?"

You've lost count of how many songs have played now, you thought it was only three, but you don't even remember this one having started.

You and Sam are sitting on the floor opposite each other. Both of your legs are crossed, which is an impressive feat for the tall man, and his jacket is snug around your shoulders.

"Absolutely, it's never too late you know?"

You lift your head to look into his eyes and smile gently at him. "Thanks, Sam."

"Anytime. And um- sorry you never got a chance to finish your… dance."

You laugh genuinely at that as you pick yourself up before holding your hands out to help him up from the ground, "it's ok. And hey, maybe you found a new calling too. You could tour the country helping all the strippers meet their unfulfilled dreams."

Sam half smiles and seems to consider it for all of a nanosecond, "yeah Dean would love that."

"Oh, I'm sure he would."

Ever the gentleman he holds the curtains open for you and lets you walk through first but stops you with a hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, I'm going to grab Dean and get him out of here before he gets thrown out, you going to be ok?"

You nod, lowering your head and adding a fluttering of lashes for good measure. "Yeah I think so, I think I can go hide out till my shift is over and then I guess it’s new year, new nurse.”

He nods and you watch him walk away, making sure to look like a hopeful ingenue every time he looks your way. 

Dean looks like he’s thoroughly enjoying what Sam couldn’t, he even has one of the Santa hats on his head while Claire sits on his knee. You swear you can hear him whine as Sam makes him pay his bill and leave. 

Of course, what you don’t see, and what you desperately wish you could see is the look on Sam’s face when he gets outside and remembers how cold it is. And where he left his jacket.

By then you've already told Dan at the door that Sam had skipped out on paying you for four private dances so there’s not a chance in hell that he’s getting back in. 

You wait till after closing to count the pile of bills in his pocket. It's more than you made all night combined. Dean really must have been drunk when he was counting. 

Why did every good guy that comes through here think that all strippers need saving?

Sure it might not have been what you wanted to be when you grew up but you sure did  _love_  to dance.


End file.
